''Tea or Chocolate?''

'Group of the Week,' without moving lips,
is Tomoko.

Was the Question of the Week

Paris:– Thursday, 17. November 2005:–
According to tonight's TV–weather news we are not
supposed to expect much in the way of excitement from the
skies which is just as well because we've had lots of wild
times in the past few weeks and we are tired of it and need
a rest, such as a having a calm weekend sans
souci.

Skywards, if anybody happens to look up tomorrow
morning, there will probably be blue from top to bottom and
from east to west. By noon and after this is supposed to
evolve into not quite so blue, maybe a bit of high clouds,
but believe me nothing to worry about. In the temperature
department you won't be able to expect much more than 7
degrees.

On Saturday a large or steady number of winds are
supposed to pass through here, heading from east to west,
at about 40 kph. While the sun shines – promised
by TV–weather! – the temperature will take
another little hit, and struggle to hit a high of 6
degrees.

One version of a very changeable sky
today.

However it will be counterproductive to sneer at this
because Sunday has been announced without any breezes,
meaning nothing, because the sunshine will be back,
brighter than on Saturday, and the only flat note will be
the day's high of 6 degrees again. And if you like this,
Monday may be the same.

The 'Tea or Chocolate' Report
of the Week

Of all the readers and club members who wanted to know
why there were no club members at last week's meeting, not
many of you wrote to ask 'why not?' Despite this singular
lack of curiosity, the answer is simple. Tomoko had to
visit her dentist.

But when I leave my artistic lair in Montparnasse and
set out for the club I do not know this yet. On the way I
am accosted by Uncle Den–Den who trots along with me
past the cemetery as if he's coming to today's club meeting
but as soon as he sees Raspail he turns around and returns
to wherever he came from.

Of course I do not dwell on this because I have the
thrill of riding the Métro to look forward to. But
of course the train is not there, is it? A tiny bit of
courtesy to a club member has cost me my habitual ride, and
I have to take the next train and play catch–up.

But the sun is gloriously shining on the Louvre and the
Pont des Arts as I cross the Pont Neuf which is also
fine today,
with some Joes bravely adding new stones to it or fixing
ones still under guarantee. It's not a criticism. I get to
see these classic stoneworkers every week, hacking away
with the same power chisels as the
originals.

Glorious shrine to today's 'Beaujolais
Nouveau of the Year.'

On my first traipse through the bar of La Corona I have
the impression that they haven't celebrated Halloween. I
keep on going, out another door, and look for signs. Yes! A
Beaujolais Nouveau sign is in place, magically appearing
while my back was turned. And inside, lo and behold, but
young Monsieur Naudan is showing me the café's icon,
shrine, crown of grapes, consisting of a barrel with one
bottle surrounded with fake grapes. Is it beautiful?

Many of the waiters are dressed in traditional native
costume to honor BJ Nouveau, sporting straw boaters and
wine red smocks – what are they called? And in the
café's grande salle there are many more
clients, sitting comfortably around glasses full of red
wine, the guest of honor itself.

But at first, at the beginning of the meeting, I have no
members new or otherwise, to inscribe, so I peruse Le
Parisien, which starts off with '742 outlaw towns.'
Sarkozy's old town, Neuilly, is the number one of these
'outlaws.' Inside the paper Le Mans is rubbing its hands,
but Marseille has jumped its compass. La fin de
l'âge d'or du beaujolais nouveau is on page 13,
just about where you'd expect to find a has–been.

This is turning into a long meeting so I go out to the
terrace to catch the sundown, the ratty traffic, the empty
chairs, but without warning Tomoko Yokomitsu catches me
off–base, and we go inside so I can watch her face
when she takes a drink of BJ Nouveau.

When Patrick the 'Waiter of the Week' comes to take our
order he gives the ritual reply to the ritual BJ Nouveau
question – is it any good? – but of course the
police pass with a howling siren just then.

Tomoko asks me whether she should order tea or
chocolate. The club secretary has to answer many questions
as best he can, but when I ask, Tomoko counter–asks
with, which will come out better in the photo? I say
tea.

Then the oddest thing happens. Tomoko says, "The black
cat was squashed flat. The black cat was squashed flat,"
and again, and again. I look under the banquette for cats.
I look at the ceiling to see if Eva is flying around up
there.

Patrick arrives with the tea pot and it is not the
silver one I was expecting. It is some sort of modern
affair, probably acquired at one of those places
advertising Asian Electronics, nothing more than 29€.
After ten minutes Tomoko hauls a tea bag out of somewhere
and I look in the pot and there is no tea bag in it.

Tomoko, speaking of tea, remembers air hostesses asking
whether she preferred black tea or green tea. She
tells me in Japan it
is called 'red' tea, but I've already forgotten which is
which. Then we go on to likely sources of white grape
juice.

The 'Pot of the Week' was tea, not wine.

Then we switch to philosophy. Tomoko says, "In Japan if
you don't live in a Japanese prison you are guilty." I
guess this applies to folks in public housing too, but no,
these aren't prisons either. "Guilty because you don't
suffer enough."

Then it's back to cats. She tells me about the SPCA
which is called the 'SPA' – is this right? –
here. She says if you go there looking for a new pet dog or
cat, you have to pass an interview, with a
psychologe. They ask if you have health insurance
for the animal and whether you intend to feed it expensive
beef four times a week, and if you don't pass you don't get
any new pet cat. "You have to be rich!" she exclaims.

Which, oh so naturally, leads to back iced tea. Or
café glacé. We have a small world tour
of the iced tea situation in Japan and France. 'Are there
street kiosks in Japan?' I ask.

There are 24–hour grocery stores, there are McDos,
there are – mainly – vending machines as near
as I can make out. Nothing like the Joes here in the little
kiosks with hot
crêpes and Nutella, cool drinks and maybe even
cigars. No. "Sometimes you get the drink and the coin
back," Tomoko says about the superiority of vending
machines, or, automats as some Europeans call them.

Then, since it is nearly five, Tomoko says she won't
bring her dentist with her next week. She doesn't say her
dentist has a sparkling personality. I wonder if he might
be Japanese and guilty.

Patrick attentively takes
orders for café and tea, red.

Probably not. Tomoko wrote a play in English, not to get
rich, but to have a part that requires her to speak
English. "The black cat was squashed flat," is one of her
exercises. Better than what happened to the woman whose
fingers froze so bad on the keys that she had to get a job
cleaning fish.

Actually, I made that up. Tomoko didn't say what
happened to her, except we both know, she was guilty.

It you think that this 'club report' has had more than
the usual ration of nonsense, feel at liberty to read the
free news that is being posted occasionally on the
'News page.

The
Café Metropole Club's About Page

This club meeting 'report,' punched out with four frozen
fingers and one bent elbow, probably leaves you in the
dark. To find out the true truth have a peek at the
'About the Café Metropole
Club' page with its now antique photos, wonderful words
and shabby membership card. You can join the club too,
without even having two thoughts, in any year containing at
least one fourth 'Thursday of the Week' in November. Like
the one coming next week rather than this one which was the
third.

Why Not, Where, How, When, What, Who?

Club meetings begin as always at 15:00, in the
afternoon, on every Thursday, and continue until 17:00, in
the western Euro Time zone, now nearly into winter. Known
in distant lands as 3 pm to 5 pm, around somewhere else is
never where meetings are held. Come to the café La
Corona. Bring a friend or two. The folks in the rear of the
big room, full of green tea, are us.

Attend a meeting – by coming to one. Pass a hour
or two or a whole meeting with other club members. Real
'firsts' are welcome, with 'real' being equivalent to
'true' even if 'first' is more than likely, and if it is an
alternate form of reality with any sort of connection to
fiction, like history.
Attending multiple club meetings is encouraged.

Caution – you may have a personal reason for
remaining unfindable via the Web. If so, be sure to inform
the club's secretary that you prefer to be '404 – not
found' by Web search engines before becoming 'found' in one
of these club reports.

The 'ex–rules' that the club once had continue to
be former. These discontinued rules may still be read if
you can find them. You can, in theory, learn that this
somewhat real club of minor purpose seldom institutes new
rules because nobody cares for the old ones, which were
many.

Talking to other club members at meetings is okay rather
than optional. There are always dozens of empty chairs, so
sit – wherever you like. Leaning is okay too.
Whatever you say will be truly appreciated by the other
members present if there are any listening, and sometimes
there are but not always – and if it should
chance to be written here.*

*The above paragraphs are relatively
unchanged since last week because during today's meeting on
Beaujolais Nouveau Day no club members drank anything other
than tea, and café, of course.